His other arm curls around my lower back, pulling me to him until I’m firmly pressed against his hard body. He clings to me as if he’s taking precisely what he needs to get him through to the next moment. My hands follow the lines of his rigid muscles as I glide them up his arms until they settle around his neck. He moans into my mouth. Tremors dance low in my belly even as he slows his rhythm.
Simmering heat leaves me dizzy as he breaks the kiss. Our breaths come out in low gasps as we try to catch our breath. I lower my hands to his waist.
He touches his forehead against mine. “I had to see you,” he confesses.
Those simple words have guilt stampeding over my complicated feelings for this man. As I stand in the dimly lit hallway, fully content with being in Edge's arms, I can’t help but think that our possible beginning or our end is right under my fingertips. Only a thin layer of fabric separates his innocence or his punishment. Wanting to stop the torture this man is putting my heart through and needing to know the truth once and for all, I’m seconds away from asking him to lift his shirt to see his tattoo when my uncle calls out for me.
“Be right there,” I answer. I hate and cherish the relief I’m spared to still have the possibility of the truth.
Edge’s stormy eyes never stop penetrating me with need and desire. I tilt my head when I notice more than the blazing heat in his stare. There’s familiarity. I don’t want to see it, but it’s there. In that tiny moment, a fraction of time, I realize that we are the same. Like me, he has demons haunting him. My only question is if they’re as arresting and monstrous as mine.
“Kinsley…”
I wait for him to whisper more, but he doesn’t. He says only my name. Not Ninja,myname.
I trace my fingers over the smooth line of his jaw, lightly skimming his swollen lips with my thumb. His mouth parts. Soft, warm breaths curl around the tips of my fingers.
“What do you want?” I don’t know what possessed me to ask him such a personal or open-ended question. Maybe it’s the vulnerability I sense. It’s as if his walls are crumbling, and this is my only moment to claim a fragile truth.
He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “You.” Delicately, he kisses the pad of my thumb. “Only you.”
My hand slides from his mouth, down his throat, to rest on his chest. The beating of his heart pulses against my palm. His simple answer drives away the rest of my curiosity… at least for tonight.I reach up onto my toes and tenderly kiss him. I don’tgive him a response. He doesn’t need or want one. His naked truth of wanting me says everything. Him being here is proof of that. Taking his hand in mine, I guide him back to the dining room.
The drive never happens. Edge seems happy just hanging out and eating apple pie and pumpkin pie with Uncle Trey and me. The conversation is easy, and the company is nice. He sits next to me at the table. His hand gently rests on my thigh. He doesn’t try to move it. Fleeting hopes of him being naughty tease my imagination, but despite my cravings for his touch, he stays respectful with my uncle sitting directly across from us.
He and my uncle seem to be more familiar with each other than I thought. There are a few conversations I don’t have anything to add to: past events they both attended, tournaments, and competitors. But the UG never comes up in conversation. I almost ask about it, then decide not to. I’m not ready to show that hand yet. Not only that but Edge is relaxed with no one to impress or kick the shit out of. He’s just being who I can only assume is normal, low-key Edge. And fuck me, do I like this Edge—a lot.
He’s making my mission anything but easy.
32
KINSLEY
The day of the fight,I dress in black from head to toe: jeans, tank top, hoodie, boots, and my mask. Adam texted me earlier, giving me the entry word. I’m officially all set. The venue is in an abandoned warehouse near Airport Road. Cars are parked along both sides of the street. Most are everyday cars, with a few luxury models scattered among them. Some cost more than my college tuition. Those belong to the big betters. The shit boxes usually belong to the fighters, the ones who risk their lives to entertain these rich assholes.
I park my bike behind a green rusting dumpster, then put on my mask. It does nothing to tame the stench of garbage. I brought nothing with me, no money, no ID, not even my phone. The only item on me is my motorcycle key, which I slide down into my boot. I lower the mask over my face and lift my hood over my head, then I head for the side door. Gravel crunches under my boots.
The bouncer is the same guy at every fight. Even though he wears a mask, it does nothing to hide his protruding belly and thinning, uncombed hair. If that didn’t give him away, his bland personality would. Monotone doesn’t even begin to describehim. This time, though, he’s wearing a different rock band T-shirt. Usually, it’s AC/DC, but tonight it’s Ozzy Osbourne.
I step up to him. He just looks at me without saying a word.
“Ninja,” I say as I internally cringe, giving him the entry password.
The unease that crept up my spine when I read the text from Adam had me questioning if tonight was safe to come. And since Venom is the one running the show, the word is either a coincidence or a shout-out to yours truly. When Edge came to Thanksgiving, he knew my uncle, so I can only assume he figured out who I am. And telling him my dad died a few months ago was a huge hint. It’s not like the world of MMA, especially the UG, is a very big one. Everyone knows everyone.
Mr. Boring unhooks the rope, allowing me to enter. I’m not sure how I expect to feel when I walk in and am hit with the visual of the cage, but fuck me, I feel like I’ve been slammed up against a concrete wall as the breath whooshes from my chest. The octagon cage at the center of the vast room sends a nasty, unwelcoming chill skating up my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The unpleasant surge of tingling is like tiny spikes of fear. My heart pounds in my chest with so many horrid images flooding me all at once. Coming here used to evoke feelings of excitement and thrill, but the death of my dad overshadows all that used to be. The thrill and excitement have given way to anxiety and dread.
With people coming in behind me, I move out of their way toward the back of the room. I rub my side where the scar from the knife wound is. Maybe coming here isn’t such a good idea.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly let it out.Get your shit together, Kins! You’re just here to gather information.
The card has four fights on it for tonight: two lightweights, one middleweight, and one heavyweight. I scan the names and freeze.Viper vs. Pythonwill fight in the heavyweight challenge. Idon’t know who Viper is, but I guarantee that with a stage name in the reptile family, he’s part of Venom. Edge is known astheViper at school, but that’s only because of the mascot and his status, right?
As for Python, I don’t know who he is, but I sure as fuck know what he’s capable of. If Edge is Viper and he’s fighting Python, that has to mean he isn’t the one who killed my dad.
My head is spinning too fast to comprehend everything and try to fit all the pieces together. I take another deep breath to calm myself, then work my way around the room to see if there’s anyone I recognize.
Even though everyone is wearing a mask, they’re still easy to identify. But if this place were to get overrun with cops, no one wants to have to be the snitch. And if you did, with the money and connections involved, your ass would be dead the moment they find out it was you.